Dear Sunny,

London is totally not as distant as California. It's cold and rainy and they just do not understand the concept of environmentally responsible health food. I'm working on raising consciousness. Can't wait to visit you and the We Love Kids Club later this summer!

Love,

Dawn

Since I was on a free trip I didn't want to complain, and I certainly didn't want to offend my hosts. There are some things, however, I find too heinous to keep quiet about. I guess activism is in my blood. It was bred into me in the Orange County suburb in which I grew up. I was really lucky, actually. Not everybody has such an enlightened upbringing. I'd had to deal with that fact a lot since moving to Stoneybrook, but never as much as the first morning I was in London.

I woke up just before dawn, and I was the first one up. This didn't surprise me; the others were probably jetlagged. When you live bi-coastally like I do, however, you have to be adaptable. Besides, I firmly believe that rising early is the healthiest and most natural course of action. It even goes with my name!

It had been pretty late by the time we had reached Angel's apartment the night before, and we all went straight to bed. Spike was right. He did have a lot of space for one person. Stacey and Claudia shared the bed in the spare room (he said it was for when his son came to visit), Mary Anne and Kristy took the hide-a-bed in the office, and Jessi, muttering something about "being in training," volunteered to sleep on the floor. I like having a room to myself, so I said I'd take the couch in the living room.

That was before I knew it was leather. What kind of individual kills a beautiful, graceful cow to make their couch. I gasped when I saw it; it was just horrible. I didn't say anything though. I wanted to give Angel the benefit of the doubt. Who knows? Maybe it came with the apartment. Besides, I was pretty tired at that point and once I lay down on it, the leather actually felt pretty soft and comfortable.

What I saw the next morning, though, could not be ignored.

I went into the kitchen hoping to find some fresh fruit or yogurt, although from what I had heard about English food, I wasn't expecting much. I opened the refrigerator and it was almost empty (that's right; he and Spike had said something last night about grocery shopping). In fact, the only thing in it were several clear glass bottles with tomato juice.

Maybe I had judged Angel too quickly, I thought. Tomato juice is a dibbly healthy and tasty breakfast! In fact, at home, I often garnish a tall, cool glass with a stick of celery for an Earth- and body-friendly snack. I can never convince the other BSC members of its merits, though. Maybe Angel would help persuade them; Stacey, for one, seemed quite taken with him.

I grabbed one of the bottles from the shelf and took a long, refreshing swig.

As soon as I tasted it, I dropped the bottle in shock and it shattered all over the floor. It wasn't tomato juice. It was cold, and salty, and kind of clotted

It was blood.

"Dawn!" Angel exclaimed from behind me. I turned around and saw him standing by the door, wearing a leather coat, of course, and setting bags of groceries on the counter. He looked concerned.

"I'm so sorry, Dawn. It's not what you think. Really, it's not. It's just pigs' blood."

"Pigs' blood? Pigs' blood? You think that's supposed to make it better?" I knew it was rude to yell at my host like that, but I was too angry to care. "I overlooked your murder-coat and your murder-couch, but now you expect me to think it's okay that you have bottles of blood in your refrigerator because it's just pig's blood?" I was on a roll now. Angel just stood there and stared at me with the same perplexed expression Claudia has when I try to tell her about the problems with marshmallows.

"Don't you realize that pigs are clean, gentle and noble creatures? Did you even read Charlotte's Web? I don't think I can spend one more minute in an apartment with someone who thinks it's okay to take pigs and drain out their blood." As I said it, I had a mental image of a massive pig blood factory, with huge machines that squeezed the blood out of pigs and then a faucet that filled wine glasses with blood. The idea made me even angrier.

I stormed past Angel (who was still just standing there, blinking), out the front door, and into the corridor.

I turned a few corners, and realized I was getting back into the older part of the complex. At this point, I was still pretty annoyed, and muttered to myself: "Pigs' blood. Ech."

A youngish woman with dark hair that fell in waves down her back and a long, ornate dress emerged from the shadows.

"Oi, pigs' blood," she said. "My Spike and my Angelus drink pigs' blood. Nasty, nasty pigs' blood. Breaking up our little family."

Her voice had an odd lilt to it and with that and her hair and her clothes, I realized what she must be. A hippie! My mom had told me all about hippies. Apparently it's what she was when she was at college in Berkeley, and she said it made her the person she is now. Before college, she was a meat-eating, straight-A engineering major, but by the time she graduated she was the absent-minded, vegan Sharon we know today! She even changed her major to Peace and Conflict Studies! Its always been my dream to go to Berkeley and follow in her footsteps, and so it was way cool that I was meeting a modern day hippie right here in London. In fact, she reminded me a lot of my mom, right down to the vague, unfocused look in her eyes.

Anyway, the woman kept talking about Angel and Spike and family and pigs' blood. Also something about souls. She was right. Carnivorousness is so soul destroying.

But family? She and Spike and Angel must all be related (she even called Angel "Angelus" – what a cute pet name!), but she'd had to disown them because of their animal-persecuting habits. I understood. I'd probably feel the same way if I found out my little brother Jeff was drinking pigs' blood. The woman continued:

"The pretty little girl hates pigs' blood too? Maybe the pretty little girl could help me with my plan."

As she said this, she looked deep into my eyes. It was intense – like she was seeing straight into my soul. She stood frozen for a minute. Well, everyone does say I have exceptionally pretty eyes.

"Pretty little Dawn will help me with my plan and stop the soully men from drinking the pigs' blood."

How did she know my name? I tried to look away and found I couldn't. I was scared for a minute. Something just seemed wrong about her.

She kept looking into my eyes and she began to hum.

And then I realized that everything was perfectly alright. This woman was good and kind and gentle. She was special.

In a sweet voice, she explained her plan. It was brilliant! We'd stop Angel and Spike from drinking blood and strike a huge blow for animal rights. And I could help reunite this woman with her family.

She needed my help to obtain a few things. It was great to have a cause again. This would be just like the time I organized the charity slumber party at Stoneybrook Elementary School, but funner. I started to leave – I needed to get right to work. But first:

"You never told me your name," I said to the woman.

"They call me Drusilla," she replied dazedly, and started humming again. Man, the resemblance to my mom was just uncanny.

I wasn't mad at Angel at all anymore. Drusilla had made me understand; it wasn't his fault he was so unenlightened. I was even beginning to regret my hasty temper. Not too much because, after all, I was right and also because I wouldn't have met Drusilla if I hadn't stormed out of his apartment. But when I got back, I'd make a point of accepting his apology.

I wasn't going back yet, though. I couldn't wait to start helping Drusilla with her plan.

It was going to be a great vacation.